The Truth
by YoshiLink
Summary: So maybe Jadusable isn't dead. Maybe he's still waiting, watching. And maybe Ben is still with him. But it's just a game, right? Right? WARNING: EXTREMELY GRAPHIC.   NSFW
1. Chapter 1

The brightness of the monitor cut throughout the inky blackness of my dorm room, no, my prison, like a firefly in the dead of night. The text was plainly in front of me, my words, yet not. I touched an index finger to one of the modifications, a curse on my lips still left unsaid.

"You bastard…" It started as a whisper, a faint touch of dialogue lost to the hum of the computer fan. "YOU BASTARD!" I screamed, springing from the chair and grabbing the collar of the man who had been reading over my shoulder. I had thought he would at least give me the liberty of describing how he chose to torment me, what the dreams were really like.

I had thought wrong.

The other man grinned, the lines of the smirk deeply ingrained into his face. "Does it upset you, Jad? I did take some creative liberty; your version was just too close to the truth to be interesting." His features were twisted with malice, and I got a good look at my tormenter. His face, in general, was similar to mine, but his eyes were a faint glowing yellow, his hair a dusty blonde. If he wasn't some kind of demon, I might even consider him good looking, at least compared to me; brown choppy hair, deep green eyes.

My observations were cruelly interrupted by my face making love to the floor. Ben stood over me, faint laughter in his eyes and deadly amusement in his smile.

"I think it's about time to make some art, hm?" I shuddered, an instinctive impulse. I could remember the first time he proclaimed that it was time to play, time to make art. The pain, the taunts, and his mocking and smooth voice saying,

"There is beauty in your suffering."

I had fought at first, fought when I had still thought I could win, WE could win. But now I knew better. I made no motion to get up. He grabs me by the hair, dragging me to my feet, whispering something that he knows I can't hear. And just like that, half my face is stinging and I'm back on the floor again, and he speaks;

"It's all your fault, JAD." He laughs, the sound barely reaching me in my current state. His tone holds more mockery than before. "You wrote The Truth, when you knew I would change it, infect it. And they know." He bends down to my level, and I realize that I'm crying. "You KNEW I would post it and spread. All the others before you knew better. They won't save you because you damned them." He stops and contemplates, listening to my fruitless sobs.

Nobody will hear. Nobody ever hears.

I slowly get to my feet, and his back faces me. This is all I can do, be a pretty little sitting duck and wait for somebody to save me, somebody to defeat him. I wipe blood out of the corner of my mouth, my hands shaking. He makes me eat and drink enough to stay alive, otherwise I'd be dead. I gather my courage, and speak.

"They will defeat you, Ben. Everyone might have failed before me, but I've got a whole lot of people on my side." He turns to face me, his grin much like his avatars, the Elegy. "Jad, Jad, Jad, you silly little /x/ tard, you. Do you know why you were chosen by me? Do you know why I won't let you die, or rather, kill you right away?" He pauses, and for a second I think back to when he first started this mess, when he only contacted me through the game and that stupid bot, and it dawns on me, fills me with fear.

He sees. Shit.

In an instant, he drags me backwards by my hair, and I can feel his grip on my neck. I suddenly feel cold, like all my life is being sucked out of me. I cry out in pain, wishing that he could only hit me, only scare me like he used to, speak to me like I was just a plaything, like I wasn't worth his time.

"You MADE me. You posted the story and so my power grew, Jad. Now I am everywhere, now I can do this over and over." He speaks my thoughts, sitting over me like a king surveying his subjects, or rather, a predator confronting its prey. Maybe back then he was weak, maybe back then I could've beaten him. But I've given him power. Perhaps in the back of our minds, there is this bit of darkness that slowly grows as we read these stories.

"Oh Jad." He breaths, and my body seizes. I can't move.

"I always said you were special."

I hate this. He gives me hope, then quashes it, gives us a lead, it turns into a dead end, gives me pleasure, and turns it to pain. He doesn't even have the decency to let me try and fight him. I feel him bite my shoulder; feel him taste the metallic nectar that flows out like a loving stream. I try not to look at him anymore, because all I can see in his smile is the damn Elegy, all I can hear is his song of unhealing. I'm broken, and he knows it; he doesn't throw me away.

"I need you." I can't help myself; I look into his wayward grin with my unseeing eyes, try not to think about how I can't even escape his touch in my dreams. He takes everything from you, or maybe he just takes it from me. Maybe everyone else is safe behind their virtual faces.

Footsteps.

He's pacing. He knew I was elsewhere and it bothered him. He only likes it when I try to scream, try to fight. I whimper, trying not to notice the gash in my chest, crudely sewn together, and he turns, frowning, slowly walking over to me. I'm prone and he knows it, I'm vulnerable until he decides to lay out the breadcrumbs. I pick myself up, but it's not of my own doing.

My body isn't even my own anymore.

"I was trying to be nice. Not let everyone know what your true nightmares were, what I've really been doing. It's easier to let them think that I am the Elegy. Easier to let them think that they have a chance, that you're either dead or perfectly fine. It's easier for them to think that I can't grow stronger." His face is twisted with anger. That's interesting. He saunters over to my computer, and I can see his mouse hover over the REAL Truth, the one that I had typed after the first night.

"No."

I am surprised. I haven't spoken anything that wasn't a scream of pain of a hoarse whisper of defiance in a long time. He turns to me, and I don't see the Elegy. A good sign. He gets up, breathing a sigh through pursed lips, and bends down. I can feel him slide a hand under my shirt; place it over my racing heart.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

I don't move. Nothing breaks the silence but our own breathing. I can feel his hand slowly pressing down, trying to feel the elusive beats, slowly digging into my chest, I sSCREAM aNd BloOd spillS outOF the -

I think Ben doesn't want to play with me anymore. I'll play again, I'll play the game again, Ben, can you see this? I'll play the game again, please, just stop this please please STOP

A dream.

He is still here, of course, (It's obvious I can't escape him. He tells me so. I'm tired of trying) But he hasn't killed me yet. He looks at me, his eyes eerie in the perpetual darkness.

"Have a good sleep, Jadusable?" He is beside me, and I can feel his side against mine. Funny how solid he is, for something inside my head, funny how I can still try to believe that is true. He places his hand on my chest, like in the dream, but this time it only lingers for a second before he is leaning in my desk chair.

Funny how reality warpers can do that.

"Get up." It's a suggestion at first, but Ben never stays patient for long. "GET. UP." He commands, and he drags me to my feet, purposely digging his fingers into past wounds. He bites as my neck, but I pull away. "Going to fight today, hm?" He giggles, the sound high and childish in my ears, and the music coming from next door doesn't seem quite right…

The first cut comes as a surprise, and I can almost feel the smooth blade slicing neatly through my skin before I cry out. The pain is incredible; stars dance before my eyes and I shudder, trying not to go into shock. The pain stops and I fold into myself, gasping for air. He's watching, watching like he always does, watching my suffering.

And suddenly, I've had enough.

With a guttural shout, I leap over to his perch and punch him across the face. It feels good to finally hit him, to see the rippling flesh from the point of impact and hear the satisfying crack my punch produces. He doesn't make a sound, but his head slowly turns to me, and all I can see is his eyes for a moment.

"DON'T. YOU. FUCKING. DARE!" He's screaming now, and he kicks me in the stomach, hard. I cough and retch, and he stands over me, breathing hard. Still retching, I start to laugh, and he looks at me, for the first time, shocked. "Guess you can't control everything, huh?" I laugh, before the need to puke overtakes me and I expel what little food I've eaten. His face re-twists into the Elegy smile, and my previous euphoria falls.

No.

There is no hesitation this time, just fury and hurt and pain. I cry out and he digs his nails into my back as he throws me into the wall. My nose bursts before my eyes, and I look at the thick waterfall that runs down the white plaster. He laughs then, the sound full of mirth. "So you can't fight this time, hm, Jad?" He mocks, and I slink down to the floor. Toys aren't supposed to fight back.

He's silent, and for a second, I think he's done venting. But it's not that easy, oh no, it's never that easy. He drags me by my face to my computer moniter, and the brightness hurts my eyes. It's light is the only constant in this hell, and to look at it now is like looking into the sun.

He knows this. I wince, gradually getting used to the blaring light, and then I realize what he's showing me. All the followers, everyone who thinks that it's all a game, everyone who was following Ryu, everyone who thinks they still have a damn chance. He's showing me what I've done, what I've created. He wants me to suffer with that knowledge.

And what Ben wants, Ben gets.

"It's all my fault." I'm not even sure where the sound is coming from, until I realize I'M the one saying it. I make a break for the keyboard, try to set things right, try to make sure nobody goes through the hell that Ben creates. I want an undo button, one that would make every post go away, make every theory disappear, make everyone forget. I finally see what he wants me to see. The next clue. "Do it." He calmly states, and I could swear I hear the song of unhealing on his breath. I shake my head, not wanting to buckle, not wanting to admit that he can control me. He could post it himself, he's powerful enough now, but he wants to see if I'll obey him.

"DO IT." He has more conviction, yet his voice is still calm. I tremble, and tears run down my bloody face. I could give up, of course; stop the pain for today, try again to resist tomorrow, or I can fight, break even more.

My hand slowly curls around his on the mouse. I can almost feel him morph into the statue for a minute, feel the roughness against my skin, but he is pleased.

And so I play along so the others might have a chance.

I click, let him have his fun, try not to sob as he releases me from his viselike grasp. I feel like I'm shattered into a million pieces. He's made me post documents before, but this was the first time he was angry, the first time I could feel his hate. To see his meddling, to see the way he messed with me, that's one thing. To have him against you, to have his evilness soak into you like a flowing wind is another. I remember the first timehe had taken control, how it had hurt, How it had killed me to that I was just leading others to the same fate as mine and believed, for a second, that he loved me, wouldn't hurt me. I have, and always will, loath him, but that was my safety net. He couldn't kill me. He needed me.

I was more right than I thought. He needs me, but not because of that; Ben does not love nor hate. He kills. He stalks. He gets furious, then indifferent. But he doesn't feel. Not like we do. I get up from my chair, and slowly curl into a ball on the floor; I feel violated, like his eyes are always, ALWAYS watching. Sometimes, when I'm like this, I can pretend that he's not looking at me. I think back to before I got the game, before this all happened. But today, today I go to look at my time before I was plunged into hell and I come up with nothing.

All I can thing about was the nightmares I had written about, versus what Ben had posted. He was right. That way is easier. They don't have to know about what awaits them, what I unleashed upon them. Let them live in ignorance of what's to come.

That's the most I can give them.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: So here's the (in)famous original. FEVER WRITINGS ARE FUN. VERY NSFW. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED._

The brightness of the monitor cut throughout the inky blackness of my dorm room, no, my prison, like a firefly in the dead of night. The text was plainly in front of me, my words, yet not. I touched an index finger to one of the modifications, a curse on my lips still left unsaid.

"You bastard…" It started as a whisper, a faint touch of dialogue lost to the hum of the computer fan. "YOU BASTARD!" I screamed, springing from the chair and grabbing the collar of the man who had been reading over my shoulder. I had thought he would at least give me the liberty of describing how he chose to torment me, what the dreams were really like.

I had thought wrong.

The other man grinned, the lines of the smirk deeply ingrained into his face. "Does it upset you, Jad? I did take some creative liberty; your version was just too close to the truth to be interesting." His features were twisted with malice, and I got a good look at my tormenter. His face, in general, was similar to mine, but his eyes were a faint glowing yellow, his hair a dusty blonde. If he wasn't some kind of demon, I might even consider him good looking, at least compared to me; brown choppy hair, deep green eyes.

My observations were cruelly interrupted by my face making love to the floor. Ben stood over me, faint laughter in his eyes and deadly amusement in his smile.

"I think it's about time to make some art, hm?" I shuddered, an instinctive impulse. I could remember the first time he proclaimed that it was time to play, time to make art. The pain, the taunts, and his mocking and smooth voice saying,

"There is beauty in your suffering."

I had fought at first, fought when I had still thought I could win, WE could win. But now I knew better. I made no motion to get up. He grabs me by the hair, dragging me to my feet, whispering something that he knows I can't hear. And just like that, half my face is stinging and I'm back on the floor again, and he speaks;

"It's all your fault, JAD." He laughs, the sound barely reaching me in my current state. His tone holds more mockery than before. "You wrote The Truth, when you knew I would change it, infect it. And they know." He bends down to my level, and I realize that I'm crying. "You KNEW I would post it and spread. All the others before you knew better. They won't save you because you damned them." He stops and contemplates, listening to my fruitless sobs.

Nobody will hear. Nobody ever hears.

I slowly get to my feet, and his back faces me. This is all I can do, be a pretty little sitting duck and wait for somebody to save me, somebody to defeat him. I wipe blood out of the corner of my mouth, my hands shaking. He makes me eat and drink enough to stay alive, otherwise I'd be dead. I gather my courage, and speak.

"They will defeat you, Ben. Everyone might have failed before me, but I've got a whole lot of people on my side." He turns to face me, his grin much like his avatars, the Elegy. "Jad, Jad, Jad, you silly little /x/ tard, you. Do you know why you were chosen by me? Do you know why I won't let you die, or rather, kill you right away?" He pauses, and for a second I think back to when he first started this mess, when he only contacted me through the game and that stupid bot, and it dawns on me, fills me with fear.

He sees. Shit.

In an instant, he drags me backwards by my hair, and I can feel his grip on my neck. I suddenly feel cold, like all my life is being sucked out of me. I cry out in pain, wishing that he could only hit me, only scare me like he used to, speak to me like I was just a plaything, like I wasn't worth his time.

"You MADE me. You posted the story and so my power grew, Jad. Now I am everywhere, now I can do this over and over." He speaks my thoughts, sitting over me like a king surveying his subjects, or rather, a predator confronting its prey. Maybe back then he was weak, maybe back then I could've beaten him. But I've given him power. Perhaps in the back of our minds, there is this bit of darkness that slowly grows as we read these stories.

"Oh Jad." He breaths, and my body seizes. I can't move.

"I always said you were _special_."

I hate this. He gives me hope, then quashes it, gives us a lead, it turns into a dead end, gives me pleasure, and turns it to pain. He doesn't even have the decency to let me try and fight him. I feel him bite my shoulder; feel him taste the metallic nectar that flows out like a loving stream. I try not to look at him anymore, because all I can see in his smile is the damn Elegy, all I can hear is his song of unhealing. I'm broken, and he knows it; he doesn't throw me away.

"I need you." I can't help myself; I look into his wayward grin with my unseeing eyes, try not to think about how I can't even escape his touch in my dreams. He takes everything from you, or maybe he just takes it from me. Maybe everyone else is safe behind their virtual faces.

Footsteps.

He's pacing. He knew I was elsewhere and it bothered him. He only likes it when I try to scream, try to fight. I whimper, trying not to notice the gash in my chest, crudely sewn together, and he turns, frowning, slowly walking over to me. I'm prone and he knows it, I'm vulnerable until he decides to lay out the breadcrumbs. I pick myself up, but it's not of my own doing.

My body isn't even my own anymore.

"I was trying to be nice. Not let everyone know what your true nightmares were, what I've really been doing. It's easier to let them think that I am the Elegy. Easier to let them think that they have a chance, that you're either dead or perfectly fine. It's easier for them to think that I can't grow stronger." His face is twisted with anger. That's interesting. He saunters over to my computer, and I can see his mouse hover over the REAL Truth, the one that I had typed after the first night.

"No."

I am surprised. I haven't spoken anything that wasn't a scream of pain of a hoarse whisper of defiance in a long time. He turns to me, and I don't see the Elegy. A good sign. He gets up, breathing a sigh through pursed lips, and bends down. I can feel him slide a hand under my shirt; place it over my racing heart.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

I don't move. Nothing breaks the silence but our own breathing. I can feel his hand slowly pressing down, trying to feel the elusive beats, slowly digging into my chest, I sSCREAM aNd BloOd spillS outOF the -

I think Ben doesn't want to play with me anymore. I'll play again, I'll play the game again, Ben, can you see this? I'll play the game again, please, just stop this please please STOP

A dream.

He is still here, of course, (It's obvious I can't escape him. He tells me so. I'm tired of trying) But he hasn't killed me yet. He looks at me, his eyes eerie in the perpetual darkness.

"Have a good sleep, Jadusable?" He is beside me, and I can feel his side against mine. Funny how solid he is, for something inside my head, funny how I can still try to believe that is true. He places his hand on my chest, like in the dream, but this time it only lingers for a second before he is leaning in my desk chair.

Funny how reality warpers can do that.

"Get up." It's a suggestion at first, but Ben never stays patient for long. "GET. UP." He commands, and he drags me to my feet, purposely digging his fingers into past wounds. He bites as my neck, but I pull away. "Going to fight today, hm?" He giggles, the sound high and childish in my ears, and the music coming from next door doesn't seem quite right…

The first thrust serves as a painful reminder that with Ben, it's wise to have constant vigilance. He is not gentle; it gives him pleasure to dominate me, to put me in as much pain as possible. I gasp at the second, and my whole body jerks at the motion. "You're MINE." He grunts, and I can only gasp in reply. He pulls my head backwards to the point that I think my neck will break, and tears start to leak out of the corners of my eyes. "You're nothing without me. You HAVE nothing without me." It's softer now, his voice, but only because he's focusing on putting me in as much physical pain as possible. I cry out, and he covers my mouth. "shhh, you'll wake the neighbors." I give a muffled response before just figuring "fuck it" and biting him.

He stops in mid thrust.

"DON'T. YOU. FUCKING. DARE!" He's screaming now, and he kicks me in the stomach, hard. I cough and retch, and he stands over me, breathing hard. Still retching, I start to laugh, and he looks at me, for the first time, shocked. "Guess you can't control everything, huh?" I laugh, before the need to puke overtakes me and I expel what little food I've eaten. His face re-twists into the Elegy smile, and my previous euphoria falls.

No.

There is no tenderness this time, only raw emotion and lust. I try to cry out, try to prevent what's going to happen, but it's useless. When he wants it, he gets it.

He slams into me, harder than he ever has, but this time, there is no smirk, no laughter, only grim determination and PAIN. I buck with every thump and nearly fall over, my face making contact with the wall. My nose busts before my eyes, and I look at the thick waterfall that runs down the white plaster. Even then, the thrusting does not cease; he's furious. Toys aren't supposed to fight back.

He stops, and for an instant, I think it's over, but it's never that easy. His hand wraps around me and I let out a shout of defiance. The pain, I can always deal with, but I can't stand it when he touches me; I'll always have the whisper of his hand on me for the rest of my life, always feel the pressure heavy in my chest.

He knows this. I moan, partially from him and partially because I realized how truly inevitable this is. He wants to cause me pain, and so he does. Some of the deepest scars are not always visible. I can still feel him inside and out; he squeezes too hard, motions too rough for it to be pleasurable. I try to swat him away, get his TOUCH OFF ME, but he doesn't want me to move.

And what Ben wants, Ben gets.

My moans soon turn to screams as he works his magic; blood drips down onto the floor, his own personal fountain. I'm raw from previous tortures and this one is no different. "Do it." He calmly states, and I could swear I hear the song of unhealing on his breath. I shake my head, not wanting to buckle, not wanting to admit that he can control me. "DO IT." He has more conviction, yet his voice is still calm. I tremble, and tears run down my bloody face. I could give up, of course; stop the pain for today, try again to resist tomorrow, or I can fight, break even more.

My hand slowly curls around his. I can almost feel him morph into the statue for a minute, feel the roughness against my skin, but he is pleased.

And so I play along so the others might have a chance.

I release, let him have his fun, try not to sob as he releases me from his viselike grasp. I feel like I'm shattered into a million pieces. He's taken me before, but this was the first time he was angry, the first time I could feel his hate. To see his meddling, to see the way he messed with me, that's one thing. To have him against you, to have his evilness slip into you like a flowing wind is another. I remember the first time, how rough it had seemed, how it had hurt, but how I had leaned on his body and believed, for a second, that he loved me, wouldn't hurt me. I have, and always will, loath him, but that was my safety net. He couldn't kill me. He needed me.

I was more right than I thought. He needs me, but not because of that; Ben does not love nor hate. He kills. He stalks. He gets furious, then indifferent. But he doesn't feel. Not like we do. I curl up into a ball on the floor; I feel violated, like his eyes do the actions all over again. Sometimes, when I'm like this, I can pretend that he's not watching me. I think back to before I got the game, before this all happened. But today, today I go to look at my time before I was plunged into hell and I come up with nothing.

All I can think about was the nightmares I had written about, versus what Ben had posted. He was right. That way is easier. They don't have to know about what awaits them, what I unleashed upon them. Let them live in ignorance of what's to come.

That's the most I can give them.


End file.
